The Best-Laid Plans
by mousiie
Summary: On the night of October 31st 1981, James and Lily Potter lost their lives protecting their infant son. The rest, as they say, is history. But the past is rewritten when The Master of Death travels in time; giving The Boy Who Lived a second chance at life.
1. All Hallows' Eve

**Chapter One: All Hallows' Eve**

Harry cursed his Gryffindor tendencies of rushing into things without a plan. Well, that's not entirely true, he had had a plan _it just wasn't quite this_.

* * *

When the battle was over, after all the death, Harry had hoped that would have been the end of his suffering. But there were still so many things that needed to be done. Hogwarts was a mess, so many were injured, and everyone in mourning. He had been so focused on everyone else's needs, that he neglected his own. And once the amount of work and responsibility had decreased, Harry had felt lost.

At the end of the war, he had become distant. Losing so many loved-ones had made him afraid that it may happen again. True, Harry hadn't completely cut himself off, but as time progressed, it was obvious to everyone that he had become withdrawn in his interactions.

His friends would still visit him, bring with them well wishes and the latest news from the outside. They'd even, on the rare occasion, managed to get him out of the house to socialise. But as time passed, life began to get in the way.

Ron accepted Shacklebolt's offer to train as an Auror. Hermione went on to work for the ministry after completing her education at Hogwarts. Ginny became a professional Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies. Neville started apprenticing under Professor Sprout in Herbology. Luna became a famous Magizoologist, discovering many new species. George ran the joke shop without Fred. Teddy was raised by his grandmother Andromeda. Everyone moved on with their lives, while Harry was stuck, without any purpose.

So he was more than content to shut himself away in Grimmauld Place, with only the disgruntled Kreacher for company, much to the chagrin of the rest of the wizarding world. Most of the invitations he received went ignored; the balls and galas held in his honour, the only events he'd felt obligated to attend were the funerals. It was the least he could do for those who had died fighting his battles.

Then there were the Deathly Hallows, which Harry had hid with the intention for them never to be disturbed, but fate seemed to disagree. When he needed to cast a powerful spell, the crooked wand would appear in his hand, from where he had returned it to Dumbledore's resting place. When he had felt so much grief, wishing to apologise for not being good enough to save them, the cracked stone had come to him from the floor of the Forbidden Forest. When he wanted to be left alone, go unknown to all but himself, the shimmering cloak would settle around his shoulders. Harry knew instinctively that they would continue to return to him.

In hope of finding answers, he had ventured to Gringotts bank. There, he'd faced the wrath of the goblins holding him responsible for the destruction caused by the release of its dragon during his breakout. After settling the debt he owed the Goblin Nation with a hefty sum of Galleons, though it hardly left a dent in the Potter's fortune, and returning the sword of Godric Gryffindor, he was finally able to conduct his business.

The Peverells' Vault was something of a legend to the goblins of Gringotts. Many others had tried to open it before; from direct descendants of the family to owners of the Hallows, but none had succeeded. Those who had failed to gain access in the last century had been Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. Though Harry Potter was known for accomplishing the impossible and entered without a problem.

The Vault itself did not have a large monetary value; its true worth was in the vast collection of various magical artefacts and ancient tomes. It was there he found the personal journals' of The Three Brothers. In each, they had detailed their own experiments in the Art of Necromancy, and the subsequent creation of each Hallow. Most of it had been difficult to understand at first, but Harry had access to the Black library to compare the text from the Vault, and eventually, he was able to make sense of the writing.

It was in one of these entries he discovered the connection between the Veil of Death and the rest of the Hallows. According to the author, to those who had, at some point in their lives, owned at least one of the Hallows, the Veil served as a one-way portal to their past. Harry had known that time travel was possible in the wizarding world, but not on this kind of scale. It was with this information he had begun to form a plan. Considering the usual madness that went into the majority of his plans, it was debatable whether this one was the most outlandish one yet.

So, much to the delight of Hermione, he finally went about finishing his missed year in education, going to the Ministry to sit his N.E.W.T's. It had taken a ridiculous amount of self-studying to gain the qualifications that he needed; not to join Ron as an Auror, but to become an Unspeakable. It was also the first time he was thankful for his celebrity status, using his influence to gain access to the information he needed, while also avoiding the strict laws and penalties placed around those working in the Department of Mysteries. From there, he moved onto the Death Chamber to study the Veil itself. It had been hard at first, to even stand in the room where his Godfather had been killed, to hear the voices of so many of the deceased.

But Harry knew it was only a matter of time before his co-workers turned their attention to him. A title like Master of Death had to have repercussions, even if it did take several years to become obvious what that entailed. The fact that wizards had longer lifespans certainly worked in his favour; but as his friends began to form wrinkles and grow grey hairs, while he remained as youthful as ever, there were only so many excuses he could make.

This is where all his years of research came into play. Theoretically, he could cross the Veil without suffering instant death. Instead, his conscience would travel to when he had gained the Invisibility Cloak: his first Christmas at Hogwarts. From there, he would use his knowledge of the future to end the war before it even began. He knew the location of each Horcrux, how to acquire and destroy them. He'd have access to Pettigrew and could get Sirius freed two years early. He would be able to save everyone who had died because of him. Best of all, he'd do all this without accidentally becoming immortal. At least that had been the plan.

* * *

This night, however, wandering into the dark and empty Death Chamber, he finally put his plan into action, stepping through the Veil. So, when he had just seemed to... come out on the other side, he'd been disappointed. Cursing under his breath, he turned on his heel and left the chamber in a huff.

Harry easily navigated the rotating corridor of the department, making his way to the lift and up to the entrance lobby. He wanted to leave the Ministry as soon as possible, go to the nearest pub and drink himself silly.

Perhaps he had been too quick dismissing the Time Chamber for his purposes. That department would have more resources in the theory of time magic; he should request to be transferred there next.

Harry walked on, paying no mind to his surroundings other than to avoid the heavy crowds, trying to remain unseen. The first indication that something was amiss came when someone looked his way but didn't rush over to shake his hand, instead, continuing on with their own business. That was surprising, especially when it happened again, several other people only sparing him a quick glance. Maybe the novelty of having Harry Potter working at the Ministry had finally worn off?

That thought came to an abrupt halt when he arrived at the Atrium and noticed the group of large golden statues stood in the middle of a circular pool. The ' _Fountain of Magical Brethren'_ hadn't been there for years, destroyed and temporarily replaced by the ' _Magic is Might'_ monument. After Voldemort's defeat, a memorial had been erected in its place. Harry had pulled a lot of stings to make sure Dobby's name was included on it. Perhaps it had been restored to its original form - _or maybe his plan had worked?_

No other observations of the architecture, or the style of robes worn by those around him, showed any significant differences, unsurprising considering the wizarding world's aversion to change. But what else could he use to ascertain if he had really travelled in time? Surely he couldn't just ask a random passers-by what the year was - they would likely think him mad! Besides, that was probably against basic time travel etiquette, if such a thing existed. So rather than convincing a stranger of his lunacy, he approached a nearby news-vendor to pick up the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.

Reading the headline, he had expected to see something about the Yule of 1991, instead the title proclaimed ' _Samhain Celebrations!_ ' The article then went on to express outrage at a proposed bill to ban the traditional rituals performed during the holiday, on the premise that they were dark magic. Further down, there was another piece about the recent inactivity of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and then speculation if this was because another raid was being planned. Glancing at the small print on the top left of the paper, Harry read the date of the publication.

' _October 31st 1981'_

Pushing down the building panic, he focused in his mind the clear picture of Godric's Hollow graveyard and apparated there immediately. Once he had landed he began to sprint towards the smoking ruins of the Potter's cottage. The once magnificent house was now demolished. Half of the top floor was blown apart, as well as the front door, which had been blasted from its hinges.

Harry ran inside and up the stairs, past his father's corpse at the bottom. The bannister had been destroyed and the picture frames on the wall were hanging from their nails, the photographs inside burnt to cinders and the glass smashed.

The ceiling was missing, exposing the room to the cold night air. It was unrecognisable as a nursery, apart from the crib amongst the dust and rubble, and the mobile of a miniature Quidditch match dangling above. There, beside his lifeless mother, was a baby boy.

Small Harry Potter sat in his crib in pale blue pyjamas, holding onto the bars for dear life. He was screaming his lungs out, distressed, in both physical and mental pain. Green eyes, just like his own, were swimming with misery, his face beet-red, nose and cheeks smeared with snot and tears. From beneath messy black hair, a small trickle of blood dribbled down his forehead, from the freshly made, infamous, lightning shaped mark.

 _Yep, not what he had planned at all._

"Mummy?" the boy cried. He followed his gaze to the motionless woman, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide and empty. "Mummy!" Again, he started to scream, bringing Harry back to the present with a jolt.

Almost absentmindedly, he stepped forward, awkwardly scooped up the wailing infant and hugged him to his chest carefully. A wet little face buried itself against his neck as he ran his fingers through the child's hair affectionately. The crying didn't stop immediately, as little Harry clung tightly to him, his small hands fisted into his robes. Slowly, he calms down, soothed by Harry's hushing, rocking, and humming, until the boy had stopped sobbing and shaking, his hiccoughing breaths becoming more regular.

Harry reached for his wand to cast a healing spell to ease his suffering, only to discover that his holster was empty of the holly wood. His backup was also missing, so he reached out with his magic to summon the Elder Wand to him. He'd not wielded the Death Stick in years, had honestly expected never to do so again, but when he really needed it, the wand would be there. Once it had loyally appeared in his hand, Harry healed the wound to the best of his ability.

Using the hem of his black Unspeakable robes, he cleaned the worst of the blood off and dried the boy's tear-stained face. Looking around, he tried to find something familiar to the child that was still intact to comfort him with. He recognised a blanket folded over the end of Harry's crib, the initials H.J.P sewn into the fabric. Wrapping up the small boy and adding a warming charm onto the blanket, he held him close to his chest, hoping to hide the site of his dead mother from view.

"Poor thing. There, isn't that much better?" he whispered soothingly to... himself. Now that little Harry had been seen to, he needed to form a new plan and quick. Hagrid would be arriving soon or, if he hadn't been here already, Snape. He should probably leave; his appearance here would raise questions he couldn't answer. Besides, just because he had missed his mark by about a decade, didn't mean that he couldn't go through with his original plan. Which meant that the question now was what he was supposed to do with the fifteen-month-old? He couldn't very well take care of a child while going Horcrux hunting.

He gave serious thought to just leaving his younger self where he was and coming back for him as soon as he could. But if he left Harry here, he'd go straight to Professor Dumbledore, who would leave him on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive. Harry knew from experience that his aunt and uncle, upon his discovery, would toss him into that God-forsaken cupboard. The next ten years of his life he would know nothing but hatred, loathing and contempt. Harry wasn't going to condemn the little boy in his arms to the torment he'd received growing up.

Ever since he was young, he had always wanted a family of his own, for a long-lost relative to come and rescue him. Someone who would tuck him in at night, comfort him when woken from dreams of screams, green light and red eyes. To be loved and wanted. He could be that for Harry, provide him with meals when hungry, clothes that fit him, a bedroom of his own. Give him all the things that he didn't have.

Mind made up, he began to search for any more belongings he may need. Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out his mokeskin pouch. From the nursery, he grabbed a handful of clothes for Harry and a pack of nappies. As he went to retrieve an obviously well loved, scruffy, black stuffed dog from the floor, he spotted a previously unnoticed wand.

Harry scowled as he picked up Voldemort's yew wand. He should snap the damned thing, the amount of pain he'd received from this piece of wood. But as his magic sang with the familiar Phoenix feather, he instead tucked it into his holster, remembering his missing backup. It wouldn't do to be caught unarmed, especially when he had little Harry to protect.

Harry should probably have something of his parents, to remember them by. Before leaving the nursery, he slipped the wedding ring from his mum's finger, doing the same with his dad's own once he'd gone back downstairs. Packing the few necessary items he had collected into his bag, wishing he had more time to grab things, but he wouldn't risk being caught. He walked out of the house cradling a now sleeping Harry, who had cried himself out, protectively against him. Once he had crossed the line of the wards placed around the cottage, he disapparated.

* * *

The streets of London were busy with late night activity. He caught the tail end of someone drunkenly singing ' _The Monster Mash'_ at a karaoke bar, before casting a _muffliato_ around them, not wanting to disturb the sleeping infant. Some people were wearing fancy dress, allowing him to easily blend in with his wizard attire. They needed a place to stay, somewhere warm where they could sleep, and then find something to eat. Harry started to sort through his options.

His first thought was to go to Grimmauld Place. He had become quite fond of the old townhouse, with its heavy wards and vast library. He'd even been civil with Walburga Black after he'd threatened to set fire to her portrait. But if his memory served him correctly, the woman was still alive in this time, and he didn't think he could stand any more shrieking right now.

He couldn't go to the Leaky Cauldron if he wanted to stay under the radar, in fact, he should probably avoid the wizarding world for a while. From what he remembered when people talked about the past, everyone was going to go crazy in the upcoming weeks: civilians revelling in Voldemort's fall, while the Death Eaters tried to avenge him or cover up their own involvement, as the D.M.L.E worked overtime trying to put any of the Dark Lord's followers in Azkaban.

So that left staying at a Muggle hotel, not that he had any idea where to find one. An hour later, Harry was acutely aware of just how heavy a fifteen-month-old could be, after holding one for so long. Finally, he found a comfortable bed and breakfast; stepping inside, pleased to be out of the cold. A middle-aged woman sat behind the reception desk reading a magazine, her thick brown hair streaked with grey. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, seemingly surprised. "Can I help you?" she questioned.

"Uh, yeah... Do you have any spare rooms?" he asked somewhat awkwardly, giving her an apologetic smile. Ignoring his strange manner of dress, and the baby in his arms, she placed her magazine to one side and began to search through the guest book.

"We do. It's a single bed, but I think we've got a travel cot somewhere in storage." she offered. Harry was about to ask how much it would cost, reaching for his coin purse, when realisation dawned on him. He didn't actually have any Pounds to give her. He would need to go to Gringotts to change some Galleons to Muggle currency, assuming that he had any on him.

With a feeling of guilt, Harry drew his wand, casting a quick _confundus_ charm. She blinked, her eyes glazing over with confusion. "Sorry, what was I doing?" Befuddlement spells weren't officially allowed for such mundane things, but he couldn't think of any other options, and it wasn't like the Ministry would actually know what he'd done.

"You were just showing us to our room, said you'd fetch a crib for me too." he lied. He really didn't have much of a choice, Harry reminded himself. It was either this or sleeping on the streets. Besides, he'd never felt bad about lying or stealing from the Dursley's when he was young in order to survive, this should be no different.

"Oh yes, follow me then!" Grabbing a set of keys off a hook from behind her, she made her way around the counter and down the hallway. Their hostess showed them to their room, handed him the keys, and left. Opening the door revealed a homey room, decorated in beige and sparsely furnished. The woman returned shortly with the cot, its white frame turned grey with age. Harry thanked her and she gave him a foggy smile before wandering back to her desk.

He placed little Harry in the crib, mercifully still asleep. Exhaustion had begun to creep up on him, it had been one hell of a day, and he was surprised it had taken up to now for him to feel it. After he had undressed and removed his glasses, he collapsed onto his own bed. It wasn't long before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

 **Notes** **:**

Time Travel/Do-Over fics are such a guilty pleasure of mine, and there are loads of great ones in the Harry Potter fandom. I also like AU's where Harry is raised by someone other than the Dursleys. So some of my favourites combine the two, where Harry goes back to raise/mentor a young version of himself, though there are only a handful (most of which are now abandoned) so I thought I'd contribute my own. This is also my first time writing a fic, so any feedback or corrections of mistakes I've made would be greatly appreciated.

 **Disclaimers:**

I do not own the rights to any recognisable properties, nor do I make any profit from them.  
This story is a work in process and is likely to be updated irregularly.  
Pairings may later be added, thus making the rating subject to change.

 _Regardless, thank you for reading._


	2. Samhain Noon

**Chapter Two: Samhain Noon**

The following morning, Harry was awoken by a knock at his door. Despite wanting more sleep, he forced himself to get up and answer. He quickly dressed in his discarded clothes, throwing on a pair of grey trousers and the homemade navy jumper he had received from Mrs Weasley last Christmas, a white stag knitted on its front. Leaving his outer robes and dragonhide boots where they lay on the floor, he placed his glasses atop his nose as his socked feet padded across the room.

Swinging the door open revealed not the woman from his check-in the night before, but a man. His face was tanned and forehead wrinkled, with a balding head of salt-and-pepper hair. In one hand he held a plate stacked with toast, while the other carried a plastic bag, its contents clanking together noisily. Upon spotting his own tired eyes, the man gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Morning lad, well, it's the afternoon really! You missed breakfast, so I've brought you something to eat. Also, I popped down to the shops to pick up some baby food after my wife told me you had a little one with ya." He indicated to each of his hands as he said this, offering Harry their contents.

"Oh no, you shouldn't have." Harry said automatically, shocked by the kindness he was receiving from the couple he had basically stolen from. He realised belatedly that he couldn't actually afford to reject the food he didn't deserve, not having packed any for either of them.

"Don't worry about it, son." the man dismissed, waving the hand still clutching the bag. "We had kids of our own you know. I remember just what it's like when they're that age; you take any opportunity you get for a bit of extra shut-eye! Course, mine are all grown up now," A faraway look came over his face at this, lost in memories.

"Thank you." Harry murmured as he took the offered items, shutting the door behind him. Sitting back atop the bed, he began to nibble at his toast, trying to push down his own feelings of shame. Could he really continue doing this, take advantage of these unsuspecting Muggles, all in the name of taking care of his younger self? Looking at the infant still sleeping peacefully, he thought he could learn to live with the guilt.

Harry watched as a small hand rubbed the scabbed over wound on his forehead in discomfort, and couldn't help but wince, his finger reaching up to trace his own matching scar. The mark stood out against the boy's otherwise unblemished skin, and he could now see why it had become such a distinctive feature. Were his own scar had faded to white once the Horcrux inside had been destroyed, Harry's was red and jagged, and would likely remain that way until the soul piece it held was been removed. How he was going to accomplish that remained a mystery to him for now.

He wasn't going to let little Harry become a sacrificial lamb like him. He'd only survived under very specific circumstances, likely impossible to recreate exactly. Harry gave a dejected sigh, his mind becoming abuzz with the unanswered questions he'd been trying to avoid pondering on. They were unhelpful in their current situation, but his insatiable curiosity had always been one of his biggest weaknesses.

Harry wanted to know how he was able to coexist with another version of himself and hadn't gone insane when he'd seen his younger self, just like Hermione had warned him all those years ago. He hadn't even considered the possibility before he'd gone rushing off. Perhaps his method of travelling through the Veil had something to do with it; time-turner's could only go back so many hours after all.

Another thing he had yet to question was why he had ended up here, or more specifically, in this time? Harry supposed that even though he had not physically owned the Cloak of Invisibility until he was eleven, he had inherited the heirloom the moment his father had died. However, glancing back at the crib beside him, Harry idly wondered if he was still even that Hallow's master. He'd been carrying the cloak with him when he had walked through the Veil, did he still have it, or had it vanished like his wands?

Deciding to take stock of his belongings, he searched through his pocket to retrieve his mokeskin pouch. He placed the things he had acquired from the cottage to one side, before dumping the rest of its contents onto the bed. Harry saw that most of his treasured possessions were gone: along with his cloak, the Marauder's Map was also missing, as well as Fabian Prewett's dented watch, which Molly had given him for his seventeenth birthday. His Firebolt was still there, shrunken down, resembling a paintbrush more than a broom, to be able to fit within the bag.

The majority of the books he'd had with him were now absent; accept his notebook that he had filled with his own research, the photo album, with pictures of his parents and friends, which he'd received from Hagrid, and his copy of ' _The Tales of Beedle the Bard'._ Hermione had published this version after translating the original runic text, together with Professor Dumbledore's own extensive notes on the various stories that he had left to the Hogwarts Archives after his death, and adding her own additional commentary defining wizarding terms for Muggle-born readers.

Checking his coin purse, he discovered it to be completely empty; he didn't have a Knut to his name! Come to think of it, if the world believed Harry Potter to be a one-year-old, which technically was true, then he didn't even have a name of his own.

Harry remembered reading somewhere that the goblins had enchanted their coins so they were unable to be duplicated; maybe something similar had happened to the rest of his things. If two versions of the same thing could not exist at the same time, it might explain why only his previously owned possessions had disappeared.

Regardless of the current how's and why's, his cloak would doubtlessly come in handy. He'd already reclaimed the Elder Wand, despite never gaining its allegiance in this timeline. Summoning the other Hallow to him, its silky material covered him like a blanket where he sat, causing him to disappear from sight.

Harry chuckled wryly to himself, imagining Hogwarts' Headmaster frantically searching through his office to try and find his misplaced wand and borrowed cloak! Having somehow lost two of the most powerful magical objects, and the saviour of the wizarding world in a fortnight must be stressing his old mentor out.

During his musing, little Harry had stirred from his rest. Sitting up in the crib, he peered around the room in confusion, searching for any familiar faces. Although he was just over a year old, Harry somehow seemed to know that the bed that he slept in was not his own, nor were his current surroundings. When he didn't see anyone, little Harry let out a pathetic whimper, not having the energy to cry out loud anymore.

Upon hearing the sound, Harry discarded the cloak, quickly moving to the child's side to try and comfort him. "Up!" the boy demanded, though it sounded more like a plea, lifting his arms and looking at Harry with wide green eyes. From the small, hoarse voice, it was obvious that last night had taken a toll on him.

Harry easily obliged, gently picking him up, when a sour smell reached his nostrils and he realised that the baby's bottom was wet. Little Harry kicked his legs around, attempting to remove himself from the discomfort.

Harry frowned to himself, he knew he would have had to change him sooner or later, it didn't mean he was looking forward to it though. Grabbing the nappy pack still lying on the bed, he made his way to the bathroom with the squirming boy in hand.

He had seen Andromeda do this, when Teddy was still young, with quick and well-practised hands, but had never changed any nappies himself. Harry found himself once again lamenting not being in his Godson's life more when he'd the chance. But by the time he had been feeling better in himself, Teddy had already grown up and was attending Hogwarts.

Bringing himself back to the present, he glanced down at the illustrated instructions provided on the pack before placing Harry down. The boy shrieked in protest at being forced to lie on the cold tiled floor, but his fussing went ignored. Undoing the nappy's fastenings, Harry immediately began to gag as the full force of the smell hit him. The stench was strong enough to make his eyes water. How someone so small could make something that stank so much was beyond him.

Harry quickly learned that simultaneously trying to keep hold of the child, wipe him clean, and get rid of the soiled nappy, was near impossible. Once removed, Harry wanted to incinerate the foul object on the spot, but instead settled for banishing the nappy and casting a _scourgify_ charm to try and maintain some measure of cleanliness for both him and his younger self.

Sighing in relief when he had successfully managed to wrestle Harry into a clean nappy, he silently begged that it would be easier the next time he had to go through that ordeal. The boy crawled off, apparently content to go explore the rest of the hotel room. Harry too rose from the floor, immediately going to the sink to scrub his hands with hot water and soap.

He returned to see little Harry playing with the remainder of his toast, smearing the jam on the bread with his fingers, before sticking them in his mouth. "Right, you must be hungry. Let's get you something to eat," he realised, going to retrieve the baby food from where he had left the plastic bag.

"Ya, ya, ya!" the boy giggled, bouncing as he slapped his chubby hands down into the ruined slice for emphasis.

Chuckling under his breath, Harry unscrewed the small jar's lid. He gave the orange purée a dubious sniff, sweet potato if he'd had to guess, or maybe butternut squash? Regardless, he picked up a spoon and mug from the tea tray that had been provided in the room, filling the latter with water. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the infant, he began the arduous task of feeding and watering the boy.

It was obscenely messy, not least of which because little Harry seemed determined to feed himself, trying to grab the spoon and getting his hands covered in the food as well as the jam. Those sticky hands then proceeded to go everywhere, spreading the muck. He also had to guide Harry very carefully, trying to keep him from spilling too much of the water all over himself as he drank.

Once again, Harry sighed - he got the feeling he'd be doing that a lot from now on - as he looked down at the grubby boy, though little Harry seemed quite pleased with himself. Perhaps he should just give the boy a bath, but the thought of having to remove and reapply the clean nappy he had just put on was enough to make him discard that idea.

Instead, he picked little Harry up and brought him back into the bathroom. Setting him down on the edge of the tub, Harry wet towel, using the damp cloth to wipe off the worst of the mess, before casting another cleaning charm.

That done, he placed Harry back down on the floor; making sure to keep anything else the boy could use to dirty himself again out of reach. He should probably get Harry dressed next. Looking down at the pile of baby clothes laid out on the bed, he went about picking out an outfit that would keep the child warm in the cold November air.

He settled on a long-sleeved maroon top, a pair of soft woollen overalls, and a fleece-lined yellow raincoat, the pockets made to look like little wings. Harry would have thought that the hood was meant to resemble a chick's or duckling's face, but the long thin beak and bright red button eyes made him realise that it was a Golden Snidget. Harry couldn't help but smile at how appropriate that was; he'd read about the small birds in ' _Quidditch Through the Ages'_ , perhaps his parents had known he would be a future seeker.

Harry only lamented not packing any shoes for the boy, if only because the image of little Harry splashing in puddles wearing matching yellow wellies, was adorable. He considered trying to transfigure a pair of socks into boots, but before he could even make an attempt, he felt a tugging at his trouser leg.

"Mummy?" Upon hearing the plea, Harry looked down and saw large eyes filled with longing. His heart ached painfully, brief cheerfulness gone. Yesterday, little Harry had had a mother and father. While he could not remember his own parents, for his younger self, they had been there his whole life.

"You're going to be staying with me from now on," he said, as brightly as he could manage. "I'm Harry, by the way." Now was as good a time as any for introductions he supposed.

"Hawwy," the boy repeated emphatically, sternly stabbing his thumb into his own chest. Of course, the same name thing was confusing enough for him, he couldn't really expect a one-year-old to make any more sense of it. Referring to him as _little Harry_ was all well and good in his mind, but it didn't really work aloud.

"Oh, right. Yes, you're Harry. I'm Ha…ah…" Harry quickly cycled through any vaguely similar sounding names to his own that he could think of. Though, he'd never been very good at coming up with aliases for himself. Harrison, Harold… Hadrian? _Like the wall?_ "Hadrian." he announced, deciding he actually kind of liked the sound of that one.

Little Harry just continued to stare up at him; he didn't seem to understand, only that his mother wasn't there. "Daddy?" he tried instead, a bit more forcefully this time. Harry – Hadrian, now, he supposed – gave a strained smile. Searching through the bed's pile, he picked up the stuffed black dog and held it out for the child to see. It had just the effect he was hoping for, distracting Harry as he reached for the toy in his hand, which he gladly gave to him. "Pa'foo!" the boy cried happily.

Hadrian felt himself freeze. _Oh shit, Sirius!_ He hadn't even stopped and really thought about the man, far too many immediate concerns on his mind to think clearly about things that had always been distant history to him. Even when Hadrian had originally formed his plan, it had been to get his Godfather out of Azkaban; not only was the man still alive in this time, but he hadn't even been arrested yet!

Fortunately, Harry seemed to sense his sudden urgency and let himself be dressed without much fuss. Hadrian rapidly tossed all his belongings back into his pouch, throwing on his own robes and boots.

He picked up Harry, holding him on his hip, the boy still clutching the scruffy dog in his arms. Briskly, he left his room, passing the reception area, not slowing in his stride when the woman back behind her desk tried to grab his attention. "Sir, are you checking out?"

"Er, yes! Wait, no… maybe?" he called over his shoulder before the door to the B&B shut behind him. When they were out of the building and onto the street, Hadrian took his wand and began running it slowly down the length of both his and Harry's bodies. " _Effugiat_." he whispered, casting a _Notice-Me-Not_ charm, wanting to keep the wandering eyes of any Muggles off them.

Once Hadrian had finished the incantation, he placed his wand in the palm of his hand. Most tracking spells required you to have placed them on the target beforehand; however, Hermione had tweaked the _Four-Point_ spell so that the compass would also point to a named object or person. She had mainly used it to keep track of her children, and Ron, when they had wandered off into the busy crowds of Diagon Alley, or to find a misplaced book, for fear of damaging it with a summoning charm.

" _Point Me,_ Sirius Orion Black." Hadrian intoned, hoping that the man was close enough to be in range of the spell. The Elder Wand spun in his hand, before locking onto Sirius' location. Immediately, Hadrian headed off in the shown direction, walking swiftly and with purpose; he had to find his wayward Godfather, preferably before the man was able to hunt down the traitorous rat.

* * *

Hadrian spent the rest of the day searching Muggle London for any signs of either Sirius or Pettigrew. While he hadn't stopped to check the time, the sun was beginning to set, and he felt as if he had made no real progress.

It certainly didn't help that, every few moments, his wand would start to spin again before pointing him in a different direction. He could only assume that Sirius had apparated to a new location, but Hadrian wasn't nearly as confident in his knowledge of the city's layout to constantly be doing the same. Though he did try a couple of times, much to Harry's displeasure; the boy's face scrunching up, seeming to dislike the sensation of _Side-Along_ apparition as much as Hadrian did.

Harry was also prone to the odd fit of boredom, acting out and demanding to be let down. And though Hadrian wouldn't mind giving his tired arms a break from carrying Harry, he very much doubted the boy would be able to match his fast pace. Doing so would only waste time they didn't have.

"I know Harry," Hadrian said, his tone soft. "But I need you to be patient, okay? We've got to find Padfoot before he gets himself in trouble." His words seemed to placate Harry's temper for now.

As the sky above them grew dark, and the street lamps began to flicker on, Hadrian's luck seemed to turn around. The wand in his hand had not moved from its set position for a while now, it appeared as if Sirius had finally stopped for the night. Drawing closer, Hadrian couldn't help his building excitement at the prospect of seeing his Godfather again.

That was until he heard the distant _BOOM_ of a powerful explosion. Harry was instantly startled from where he'd been nodding off against Hadrian's shoulder. The child's distressed cries joined those of the frightened, fleeing Muggles. A steady plume of smoke rose a few blocks down from where they currently were. Hadrian rushed towards it, fearing the worst.

Through the clouds of dust, he saw the number of Ministry employees that had already arrived on the scene; even Fudge's signature lime green bowler hat could be spotted in the crowds of wizards. Obliviators rounded up the remaining Muggle onlookers, while others blocked off the area, performing damage control. The only thing left of Pettigrew was his severed finger, lying in the smouldering crater left in the road.

Sirius knelt in submission; hands bound with chains, surrounded by Aurors, and the dead bodies that littered the street. Two men flanked Sirius, each roughly gripping one of his shoulders, their wands pointed at his face.

The man before him looked far more like the resurrected spirit he had talked to within the Forbidden Forest than Hadrian had seen him in life. Sirius' face wasn't gaunt and waxy, but young and handsome, black hair long and lustrous rather than matted and unkempt. However, his striking grey eyes still swam with the same grief that had haunted them till his death.

Sirius howled hysterically with bark-like laughter, yet his face was completely devoid of humour, tears trailing down his cheeks. "It's all my fault!" he wailed, sounding unhinged even to Hadrian's ears.

"Sirius Black, you are under arrest for the betrayal of the Potters to the Dark Lord Voldemort, the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggle bystanders, and for suspected activities as a Death Eater." an older Auror spoke, his voice steady and face hard. The two others holding onto Sirius blanched at the use of the name.

Sirius just continued to laugh, hiccuping chuckles mixed with broken sobs. He gave no other reaction, not even when his wand was snapped in half. That was until he heard the use of his nickname, his head snapping up at the sound.

"Pa'foo!" Harry cried, arms outstretched, the hand not currently holding onto his toy reaching towards his Godfather. He thrashed about in Hadrian's grasp, once again wanting to be let down, socked feet kicking into his side.

"Harry…" Sirius began, his voice trailing off in disbelief. Grey eyes drifted up to meet Hadrian's own, widening as he focused on his face. "...Prongs?" the convict whispered before jumping up to his feet and leaping towards Hadrian. His sudden movement caught his guards by surprise, allowing Sirius to break free of their hold on him. "James!"

" _Nice one, James!" Sirius shouted, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. Caught up in the heat of combat, he hadn't even seemed to notice his slip of the tongue. But Harry had, it caused him to pause in his actions, and almost cost him as he only just managed to dodge another jet of light._

"Prongs, you're alive! Oh Merlin, you're alive!" Sirius barely made it two steps before he was hit with multiple s _tupefying_ spells. The man dropped to the floor, face colliding with the asphalt, instantly rendered unconscious. The pair of Aurors rushed forward to where he lay limply.

 _Then his Godfather was hit squarely on the chest,_ _sending him falling backwards through the veiled arch. His body curved gracefully, the smile not quite gone from his face, but his eyes still mingled with shock and fear. And then Sirius was gone._

The sharp _crack_ of disapparation sounded deafening to Hadrian. He stared at the spot Sirius had just been, _willing_ the man to reappear! The sting of unshed tears burned his eyes. He needed to hold himself together; he couldn't break down now, not here.

Some of the other ministry officials eyed him suspiciously, but were quickly dismissed by a wave of the commanding Auror's hand, returning back to their work. He must have been a higher ranking officer, to have recognised the robes that marked him as an Unspeakable. Hadrian gave the man a nod of acknowledgement, trying to look as if he belonged there, despite the fact that he was currently holding a shrieking child in a bright yellow raincoat.

Discreetly as possible, he fled. His sprint quickly sped into a full-on run; the Invisibility Cloak wrapping around him and hiding them from sight. Hadrian didn't have the right mind to cast a silencing charm to quiet Harry's wails or his ragged breaths, his brain _screaming_ at him.

 _Why hadn't he done something? He'd just stood there! He could have saved him, should have saved him…_

His footsteps echoed around the empty underpass of the bridge he had found his way to. He collapsed into a heap on the ground, panting for air, his legs sore and head spinning.

 _Cedric, Sirius, Dobby, Fred, Remus, Tonks... All their voices called to him from the other side of the Veil. He'd stepped through its arch in hope of accomplishing the impossible. Or had that simply been the excuse he'd told himself, had he really wanted to join them… Had he wished for death?_

Hadrian could no longer hold back his tears, cradling Harry in his arms as he joins the boy in his crying.

* * *

 **Notes:**

I wanted to thank everyone who has followed, favourited, or reviewed my story so far! Though the numbers may seem insignificant in comparison to some others, I honestly do treasure each one of them.


	3. Snake in the Grass

**Chapter Three: Snake in the Grass**

Hadrian had no idea how long it took to calm himself down, only that it took him even longer to do the same with Harry. The child was hysterical, his own previous break-down having only added to the boy's distress. No amount of comfort he tried did anything to calm the wailing infant.

"It's alright Harry, don't cry. I'm so sorry, please don't cry," Hadrian apologised frantically. He felt awful for causing Harry upset, even if it had been indirectly. Going after Sirius had been foolish, he realised that now.

What would have happened if someone had recognised Harry, would they have taken the boy away from him? And even if Sirius had mistaken him for his father, he'd still called out Harry's name; it wouldn't take much for the rest of the wizards there to put two and two together. How long did he have before others would come looking for them?

They needed to get moving, but Hadrian was unwilling to do so when Harry was still in such a state. The poor boy's face was beginning to turn a worrying shade of red as he screamed his lungs out.

Feeling desperate, Hadrian closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to hum a lullaby. It was the only one he really knew; that he even remembered the tune was surprising to him, though he was sure there were words meant to accompany it that he couldn't recall.

When he was younger he had heard his aunt sing this to Dudley many times, listening-in with his ear pressed against his cupboard door. The melody had always been both hauntingly beautiful, and strangely familiar to Hadrian. He supposed it was not out of the realm of possibility that his own mother would have also sung him the lullaby, that his grandmother had done the same with Lily and Petunia when they themselves were children.

The soft, soothing song reverberated around the empty underpass, and the crying tapered off fairly quickly. Blinking open his eyes, Hadrian met the child's silent stare as Harry watched him with watery green eyes, wide in bewilderment. Hadrian used his thumb to wipe the tear tracks from the child's face as he hummed the final note of the lullaby.

"Ha'dwan," Harry said in his lilting voice, spreading his arms open in want of a hug. The use of his new name dumbfounded Hadrian, apparently the child had been paying attention to its impromptu change this morning. Gathering Harry up into his arms, he placed a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead, careful to avoid the still sore looking scar.

"I'm here Harry, I've got you. Ssshhh…" he whispered against the child's hair. Holding Harry close, his heart beating fast and his small body shaking ever so slightly, Hadrian felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him for the little boy. "I'll keep you safe, I _promise_!" he swore, surprising himself with the conviction in his voice, at how quickly he felt himself growing attached to Harry. Though part of him knew that just because he had been the one who had isolated himself, didn't mean he hadn't been lonely.

Regardless, the two of them were getting cold just sitting here. Huffing, Hadrian stood back up with Harry in tow, before apparating away once again. The pair landed in a secluded alleyway nearby to where they had stayed last night.

Harry let out a whine in discomfort, his face twisting with nausea, before burying it into Hadrian's shoulder. "I know. Last time for today, okay kiddo," he assured the boy, rubbing small, soothing circles on his back. After taking off the Invisibility Cloak so the two of them could be seen, and stuffing it back into his mokeskin pouch, Hadrian made his way back towards the bed and breakfast.

When he stepped inside the building, the woman was still sitting at the reception area, flipping through the guest book with a pen in hand, her brows furrowed. Looking up at him from her desk, she gave Hadrian an open, friendly smile, belied only by the intensity of her scrutinizing stare. The woman's eyes seemed to hold a sharp intelligence now that the _confundus_ charm was no longer clouding her mind.

"Welcome back," she chirped happily. "We weren't sure if you'd be returning after you ran off in such a hurry this afternoon. But I made sure to keep the room open, just in case you did, Mr…" she trailed off, obviously waiting for him to give his name.

"Hadrian," he murmured in reply. She jotted his name down in the book, though continued to peer at him expectantly, her pen hovering above the page. "Evans..." he answered after a brief moment of hesitation, deciding to use his mother's maiden name. While Potter was a common enough surname, and the couple didn't appear to be magical, either of the two could still be a Squib or have Muggle-born family. He wasn't willing to take the risk that they might recognise the name, or distribute it to anyone that asked.

Once the woman had finished writing, she placed down the pen and gave him another of those assessing looks, side-eyeing Harry, before letting out a sigh. "And you're taking care of your little brother all by yourself?" she asked cautiously as if dreading to hear the answer.

The _'little brother_ ' part threw him through a bit of a loop; though he knew he looked a tad too young to be Harry's father, he was actually older than either of his parents had been when they'd had the boy. But the woman's implication certainly didn't go over his head, and it instantly put him on edge. Despite himself, Hadrian immediately stiffened defensively, tightening his hold on Harry. "I don't see how that's any of your business Lady," he said coldly.

" _That's what I thought,_ " she muttered under her breath, as if he'd responded in the affirmative, confirming her suspicions. Holding out her hands as if trying to calm a spooked animal, she spoke in a clearer voice. "Now, while I usually don't like to pry into the privacy of our guests, as a mother, I can't help but worry when it comes to children." Hadrian got the impression that she was referring to not just Harry, but himself as well.

Part of Hadrian couldn't help but be frustrated by this whole situation. Of course, when he'd been with the Dursleys, no one had paid him any mind, but now that he was actively keeping little Harry out of an abusive household, people started to try and intervene! Would she call the police; he'd already had a run-in with magical law enforcement today, he did not want to have to deal with the Muggle ones too.

Coming up with an idea, Hadrian changed his demeanour. He had always considered himself to be quite the accomplished liar, a skill he'd had to learn living with the Dursleys. Though it hadn't mattered how convincing his acting had been when dealing with his Potions Professor, or Hogwarts' Headmaster, the two Legilimentes both able to sense his deceit.

Fidgeting nervously, he shifted his feet and picked at the wool of his jumper with the hand not supporting Harry. "It's just that, well…" he began slowly, pausing to nod warily as if he was trying to convince himself. "Dad's not been the same since Mum died."

Hadrian watched as the woman's face shifted from one of concern to outright pity. Harry was doing his part too, if not deliberately, looking up with sorrowful eyes at the mention of his parents. "It's not that he's a bad dad, he never hits us or anything, and he works really hard. But sometimes he comes home drunk and I just get worried, you know!" he said, letting his words come out in a frantic rush.

Honestly, he felt slightly appalled with himself, slandering his recently deceased father, and right in front of Harry too. Here he was, telling the same kind of lies that he had so often heard from Uncle Vernon. But he carried on, determined to, at the very least, guilt the woman out of taking action.

"Listen, son, if you need help-" she began, but he cut her off, shaking his head fervently and taking a step forward.

"Please, you can't tell anyone!" Hadrian begged, looking around quickly as though he was afraid someone had overheard them. "If they put us in childcare we'll be separated for sure. And it wouldn't be fair on Dad either, losing his kids, and so soon after Mum too," he whispered in a panicked tone.

The woman reached across her desk to grasp Hadrian's shoulder. "Calm down lad, there's no need to get worked up. I'm sure your father's a good man, and he'll be back to his old self in no time. We all deal with loss in our own way, as I'm sure you're figuring out now." she reassured, trying her best to soothe his seemingly frazzled nerves.

"You won't say anything then?" he questioned, gazing into her eyes with a cautiously hopeful expression. Though Hadrian had never had any talent for the Mind Arts, he'd had enough practice to be able to perform Legilimency nonverbal and wandlessly, easily skimming the surface thoughts of the unprotected mind of a Muggle.

"Not a word," she promised solemnly. To Hadrian's relief, the woman was being truthful, even willing to keep his secret from her husband.

Harry, who had been silently watching the back-and-forth of his BAFTA worthy performance, let out a tired little yawn. "Ah, looks like its past someone's bedtime," she cooed at the boy. Turning around, she grabbed a key from the rack and handed it to Hadrian. "Same room as before, just down the hall." He gave her a grateful smile and was on his way before she could even think to bring up the subject of payment.

The room had been tidied up since they'd been gone, there were fresh sheets on the bed and new towels in the bathroom. Upon noticing his red-rimmed eyes in the reflection of the mirror above the sink, Hadrian realised how obvious it must have been that he'd been crying. _No wonder the woman had been so concerned_ , Hadrian thought, turning on the tap and splashing cold water on his face.

He then went about getting Harry ready for bed, repeating the same actions from this morning. He changed the boy's soiled nappy for a clean one, fed him another jar of baby food, this one containing mushy peas, and dressed Harry in his pale blue pyjamas, all with relatively little fuss.

While waiting for the kettle to boil, Hadrian set about emptying a load of individual milk portions from the tea tray into a mug, heating it up with his magic. Harry drunk his warm milk happily as he sipped his well-earned cup of tea. After they had finished their drinks, he placed Harry back into the travel cot, tucking the boy in. Hadrian watched over Harry as he drifted off to sleep, tightly clutching his scruffy black dog.

Stepping back and sinking to his knees, he pulled out his notebook, quill and ink pot from his pouch, placing them onto the bedside table. Opening up his notebook and flipping to an empty page, Hadrian started to write.

Forgetting about Sirius' arrest had been an oversight he was not willing to repeat, so he began the process of constructing a timeline of the events yet to happen. It would undoubtedly come in handy, help him to better plan out his actions in response to the upcoming future.

It was mainly personal events, as they were the easiest to recall, but he also wrote down any facts of news he could remember reading in the Prophet or learning from others. However, nothing stood out as immediately significant; the closest event he had written was when he'd received his Hogwarts' letter, and that was nearly ten years away!

Hadrian sighed, flipping to a new page to write a short To-Do List. In all honesty, he had never been very good at planning ahead, was always reactionary in his decision making. But he couldn't just go rushing into things and try to figure it out from there; that kind of thinking had led to Sirius' death originally and had now put them in danger of discovery. Gryffindor heroics weren't going to cut it anymore, he needed to be cunning, embrace his more Slytherin side.

Still, the first thing he wrote was obviously ' _Free Sirius_ ', but he acknowledged that as a concern for later. Of course, he wanted to apparate straight to the Borrow and catch Pettigrew. However, the rat would be on high alert for months, if not longer, and would likely flee at the first sign of trouble. So he would wait, bide his time, let _Scabbers_ grow lax, content with his role as the Weasley family's pet, and then he would strike.

Instead, his new priority needed to be finding himself and Harry new accommodation. Staying in the same place was too risky if he wanted to avoid further detection, but moving from one hotel to another would leave behind a trail of his magical signature if he continued using spells in lieu of payment. He could always use emotional blackmail instead, and though that hadn't backfired on him tonight, there was no guarantee that the next person would believe whatever lies he decided to tell them.

Hadrian also knew that Harry would need stability in order to adjust to major change, especially after such a traumatic event. Constantly moving from place to place, and not allowing the child time to grow accustomed to his new surroundings, would thoroughly disorient him and make his transition of guardianship even harder.

So the first order of business was definitely finding more permanent placement, but somewhere they could still lay low. And for that, he'd need money, which meant a visit to Gringotts bank. Though he doubted he'd be able to gain access to any of his usual vaults.

The easy solution would be to claim himself a long-lost relative of the Potters. And though that was true in a sense - he certainly looked the part at least - the Potter line was far too well known, with all other members being deceased. He could be from an obscure and distant branch, but fabricating a false identity for himself would take time and research. Besides, he had no intention of using the Potter fortune; that money belonged to Harry, he wouldn't steal his inheritance from the child.

Hadrian couldn't use the Black account either. He'd only gained that after Sirius' death, and only because the man had named _Harry Potter_ his heir.

So that just left the Peverell's, which he would be able to take ownership of after proving he could open the vault. Though the money inside wasn't nearly as much as was in the Potter or Black accounts, there was still enough for the two of them to build a new life, and live comfortably for the next few years.

The only issue was that he couldn't very well go waltzing into Diagon Alley carrying around the _Boy-Who-Lived_. If people were looking for Harry Potter, then they would definitely take a closer look at the black-haired, green-eyed little boy. No, Harry was too easily recognisable to anyone who knew what features to look for.

Hadrian could use a _glamour_ charm to disguise Harry's appearance, he'd hardly ever left Grimmauld Place without casting the spell on himself after all. However, any competent witch or wizard would be able to tell that he was glamoured and could simply cast a revealing spell; Hadrian couldn't trust others to respect their privacy, especially with how on-edge the magical world was right now.

Which meant he'd have to find someone to babysit Harry while he went to the bank - but who? His first thought was to ask his friends, they had all made such excellent parents, and would be far better qualified to take care of the boy than him. But they were all children themselves now, barely any older than Harry, and anyone else that came to mind would report into Dumbledore if he left the boy in their care. Then he'd send Harry to the Dursley's, but under stronger wards, maybe with guards, or…

Hadrian gave another sigh, running a hand through his abused hair from where he'd been tugging at it in frustration. There was no point in worrying about that now; it was late and he was obviously overtired. His first full day since travelling through the Veil had been stressful, hopefully tomorrow would be better.

* * *

The next morning saw them up early, not by choice, but by Harry's shrieking as the boy awoke from a nightmare. Hadrian stumbled out of bed, scooping Harry up and affectionately cradling him in his arms. He also cast a silencing charm around the room, in fear of disturbing any nearby occupants still sleeping.

When his hushing and rocking didn't calm Harry down, Hadrian once again tried humming the lullaby. It worked like a charm, _literally_ , the child falling quiet to gawk at him as he sang. Perhaps he should lead with that next time, it was extremely effective, even if Harry's silent staring was a little odd.

Still, them being awake meant that they'd be able to make it to breakfast this time. Walking into the hotel dining room after dressing in yesterday's clothes, minus their robe and coat, they were sat at a table with a highchair already pulled up beside it. The room was practically empty, only half a dozen other people occupying the rest of the tables as they ate and talked amongst themselves.

The man, who had brought him the toast and baby food before, greeted him cheerfully before taking Hadrian's order. A plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and sausages, a full English fry-up, was soon placed in front of him; while Harry was given a bib to wear, and served baked beans and scrambled eggs, with a spill-proof beaker full of apple juice.

Hadrian wondered if it was normal for a B&B to have this many baby supplies on hand, or if they used to belong to the owners' children; the couple had both mentioned having kids of their own now. Perhaps they would be willing to take care of Harry while he went out.

Once he'd finished feeding the child, Hadrian tucked into his own meal with vigour, not having eaten anything since yesterday. When the man returned to clear their table, he made his move. "Uh, sir?" he called out, getting his attention before he left to take their dirty dishes to the kitchen.

"A'right son, something I can help ya with?" the man asked kindly, giving him another warm smile.

"Well, I don't want to be a bother," Hadrian begun in faux apprehension, chewing on his bottom lip before answering. "but I was wondering if you could look after Harry for a bit. I just need to pop down to the bank, it shouldn't take long." he pleaded, peering up at the man and making his eyes grow very wide.

"No trouble at all lad, me and the Mrs would be more than happy to watch the little one!" he replied jovially, ruffling Harry's already messy hair. "Cause, I'd be a bit cautious 'bout going out myself, especially after reading this morning's paper," he said seriously, eyebrows knitting together causing the wrinkles on his forehead to become more pronounced.

Hadrian blinked in genuine confusion. "Ya hadn't heard? Probably for the best - might of put you off your food otherwise." Despite his words, the man unrolled the newspaper tucked beneath his arm and showed him the front page. _'12 Dead in Gas-Leak Explosion'_ he read, realising that this was a cover-up for the Muggles murdered during Wormtail's escape. "Makes ya worry it might be someone you know." The man winced as he reread the headline.

"I should really be going…" Hadrian muttered, awkwardly standing and shuffling away. Whether it was because Harry thought he had been forgotten, or because he somehow knew he was being deliberately left behind, the child started to panic. Thrashing about in the seat of the highchair, Harry lifted his arms up and demanded to be let out, calling out Hadrian's name and dissolving into sobs when he was ignored.

The other guests looked on at the scene with expressions ranging from sympathy to annoyance. The man tried to comfort the crying child, but he was inconsolable. Glancing back before he left the dining room, Hadrian saw Harry looking at him with, what he could only describe as, betrayal.

It took an extreme effort of will, but Hadrian did manage to walk away, though the sound of Harry's distress seemed to follow him out of the building and onto the streets. Of course, he didn't blame the boy for feeling anxious about being separated. After all, he'd lost both his parents, and now his Godfather, in the span of two days…

But Hadrian ignored his trepidation, pushing every possible horror scenario that could happen in his absence from his mind. It would be safer for Harry to not stay with him when he went to the wizarding world. Hadrian became convinced of that fact when, even on the short journey back to the alleyway, he spotted flocks of owls flying overhead and several groups of people dressed in cloaks and pointed hats.

They were huddled together and whispering to each other excitedly. Hadrian avoided them with a lowered head and quick steps. He could only assume that the word of Voldemort's defeat had finally reached the rest of the magical community, and that the owls were carrying letters to deliver the news to those who hadn't heard yet.

Once he had found a spot hidden from view, Hadrian quickly ducked into the alleyway and withdrew the Elder Wand from his holster to cast the _glamour_ charm. He had used the spell so many times, that he was confident in his ability to disguise himself without having to check his reflection.

Swapping around his parents' features, Hadrian changed his hair to match his mother's dark red, and his eyes to be the same shade of soft hazel as his father's. He also gave himself a smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Anyone could easily mistake him for a Weasley relative, and probably wouldn't give him a second thought, they were a large family after all.

Lastly, Hadrian dressed in his Unspeakable robes and black cloak, pulling up the hood. The clothing would obviously help him blend in, but also keep his bangs from flying up in the wind, exposing the lightning bolt scar, since it was not so easily concealed with magic. Even if the mark had yet to become synonymous with the _Boy-Who-Lived_ , it was still far too distinctive.

Final touches made, Hadrian apparated to Charing Cross Road, landing across the street for the Leaky Cauldron.


End file.
